Page 4 of The Doctor and the Devil
Now, Mina! You’re just being dramatic. Rafael’s sudden reappearance has unsettled you.I frowned, lost in memories that I’d been fighting to repress for far too long. Perhaps it was time to simply let them go.If only I could…
“Ça va, Mademoiselle Mina?”
A plump woman with a halo of wild gray hair approached and handed me a mug of ale. Unlike my French friends, I preferred the bitter, golden liquid to the standard fare of wine—it reminded me of home.
“Yes, Madame Bénard, all is well, thank you,” I said, trying for a smile. The sharp innkeeper narrowed her eyes at my likely insincere expression and harrumphed.
“You need to eat,” she said brusquely. “Our stew tonight is turnip and lentil, but for you, I’ll put in some bacon,d’accord?”
I opened my mouth to argue—meat was expensive and in short supply—but she waved away my protest and bustled off to shout at a drunken patron. I smiled at her retreating form. Madame Bénard had been one of the first people in the city to show me kindness before she knew of my profession and my skills. I’d been coming to the dank tavern weekly since I’d arrived in the city years ago and now, it felt as much like my home as my small apartment atop my medical clinic. It certainly felt more like home than anywhere else I’d lived, except perhaps…
No!I shook myself from what promised to be some sort of lamentable reverie and took a large swig of ale. I would not allow myself to dwell on Rafael’s unwelcome presence, nor the fact that he’d clearly been haunting France for some time now,northe fact that our history was likely to be revealed when the Order finally got their hands on him—which would jeopardize everything I’d worked so hard to leave behind. I massaged the scowl from my brows and tried to lift my spirits with the ambient chatter of the crowd, but their conversations only saddened me further.
“…not enough bread. Never enough food. And with another babe on the way, whyshouldn’twe get bitten and make the change? Plenty of blood to go around, right?”
“…the blood plague already took my family—all but Jeanette, and she’s run off and become a blood whore, now, hasn’t she?”
“We can’t pay the new tax! Who can? What with the blight wiping out last year’s crop and soiling the land, there aren’t even enough fields left to plough. Not thattheycare, mind you. Sitting up in that damn palace drinking champagne and eating cake.”
“Well, I heard that the Beast of Gévaudan is here now—roaming the streets, feeding on all those pour souls, human and vampire alike. Do you thinkthe Orderwill catch it?”
My ears perked up at the last words, and I swung my head around to find the source. Before I could locate the man, Madame Bénard returned and plonked a heavy bowl of stew on my table.
“Every bite,d’accord?You must eat every bite, Doctor. You need your strength, and I can tell when something is vexing you. Besides, you would not want to waste my good bacon!” She set down a thick chunk of dark rye bread and another tankard of ale, then winked at me and hurried off again.
The stew was thick and hearty, and the savory, smoky sweetness did more for my mood than I’d expected. Often when I was working, I would completely forget—or forgo—my afternoon meals. It was hard to think of eating when so many of my patients were starving. Still, Madame Bénard was right. If I wanted to continue my work, I would need my strength.
And if I intend to run and hide from the past that Rafael is here to dredge up.
I pushed the thought aside and swiped a piece of bread through the meaty broth, willing myself calm and praying the ale would soon still my racing heart. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before my mind returned to Rafael. Why had he come? Where had he been? What was he doing? Why did he still look at me with those same penetrating obsidian eyes—like no time had passed? As if we hadn’t been separated by half a lifetime and too many broken promises and too much cruelty.
I downed the last of the ale and stared at the foam swirling around the bottom of my empty tankard. I grimly contemplated whether or not I should alert the Order.
I knew I should. I knew I wouldn’t.
Dieu, Rafael, I hate you.
“Doctor?”
A sallow-skinned man who looked more skeletal than the anatomy etchings in my medical texts stood at my table, clutching a filthy cap in his hands. I recognized him as a young farmer who’d come into the city looking for work after the grain blight decimated his fields last year. He looked like he’d had a much harder winter than the other men here, though that was an unfortunate contest to win.
“Pierre, is it?” I offered a smile.
He nodded. “I’m told you can help…that is, I don’t mean to interrupt your dinner, but my wife…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. His eyes flicked to my half-eaten bowl of stew and the bread.
“Won’t you join me?” I said, gesturing for him to sit. “Madame Bénard makes lovely food, but I’m afraid it’s always too much for me.”
He sat but refused to meet my eyes. I pushed the food across the table to him, but he blushed and stammered a half-hearted protest.
“Please,” I encouraged. “I was finished anyway, and if I leave anything but an empty bowl, Madame Bénard will gripe at me until the end of days.”
Mollified, Pierre grabbed the bowl and began slurping down the delicious stew. Once he’d all but licked the bowl clean, I cleared my throat.
“Your wife?” I asked. “Is she ill?”
“Yes,” he said, remembering his purpose. “Well, no—not yet. But…”
At this, he looked around the room nervously and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
